


Unite; Descend

by Kilieit (p_3a)



Series: NaNoWriMo 2016 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Captivity, Exhaustion, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Mind Control, Possession, Sleep Deprivation, Torture, ascians - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/Kilieit
Summary: A retelling of the 2.0 MSQ from the point of view of Archon Thancred Waters.





	1. Prologue: After the Inferno

_ Louisoix would never have allowed this. _

The single thought continued to resonate through Thancred's mind long after he'd dismissed himself from the solar.

Never mind that the Scion he'd been working so closely with had almost perished due to his oversights, his  _ shortcomings _ , those same things that hounded him again -  _ too lazy. Not punctual enough. Unable to follow rules.  _ Not only had he almost caused their death with his disgusting lack of foresight. No, not only that - but there were the lives that  _ were _ lost to consider, as well. The adventurer had been with the local law enforcement, of course they had - and of course they'd been the only one among the lot with the Echo… he caught himself thinking it cruel by chance that none of them had happened to be protected, and stopped. This wasn't chance. This had been  _ preventable _ . And he had failed to prevent it.

The Scion he'd been working with had been saved by others of their kind - fellow adventurers who Minfilia had thought, in wisdom befitting her growth as the wonderful young woman she'd become, to send ahead. No - Thancred himself had barely managed to arrive when they were yet within the compound. He had to admit he'd grown fond of the young adventurer, and the thought that he could so easily have lost them… if not in the same way as the dozen soldiers he'd had to oversee the executions of today…

He shook his head. He  _ needed _ to do better. This wasn't excusable any more - he'd coasted for  _ years _ on the kindness of the others in the Circle of Knowing, and it wasn't good enough any more. It had never been, in truth, but perhaps he'd liked to fool himself into thinking it was - into believing Louisoix when he'd said such kind things about Thancred's presence in the Circle. But Louisoix wasn't here, and in the cold light of day, Thancred had to face up to the fact that perhaps he'd lied just to save his feelings. He couldn't find any sort of truth in the statements beyond the good intention.

Perhaps he'd start by asking Minfilia what to do. They hadn't finished their discussion, and he was sure she, too, felt like she had more to say. All too often these days, he felt as though she was the pillar supporting him, and not vice-versa - that was another front he was failing on, too. He couldn't rely on her like that; she was the one who was supposed to be able to rely on him.

He knocked gently on the door to the solar; her fair voice called him in.

"Minfilia," he began, inclining his head. His smile always came easily, when it was for her. He hoped he never lived to see a day when it didn't. "I believe we were interrupted earlier."   
"We were," she replied - she was smiling too, at first, but it dropped abruptly. "You were blaming yourself for what was beyond your control once again."   
"More was mine to control than you think," he said, a frown replacing his own smile as well. "I truly believe I ought to have done better for our adventurer friend, as well as for the innocent soldiers who got caught up in this charade. I should have been more careful, and because I was not…"   
"Thancred." A gentle hand on his arm, this time. He fought the urge to shake it off. "I stand by what I said. While t'is admirable to try and take the blame, here it lies with those who performed the summoning ritual to begin with, and those who deceived in order to bring about the temperings."

Thancred let his frown soften, but his thoughts did not. She sounded so much like him, sometimes.

She offered a small, gentle smile, and he quietly elected to return it. On his doing so, she spoke up once more - "however, if you are ready for another mission, I admit I could use your assistance in some investigations that Urianger has brought to my attention. Would you be amenable?"   
Thancred nodded with barely a thought. This would be the time he would prove himself; this time, for certain. With such a resounding failure ringing in his ears, how could he do anything but his best?

"I would. What would you have me do?"


	2. Paragons

His forehead touched parchment.

No--  _ no _ . He had to do this. He didn't have a choice. This was his mistake - his to bear, his to fix. He just had to keep telling himself that.

It had been two days now since he had been assigned his task: learn everything he could about the "Paragons" or, as they had otherwise been named,  _ Ascians _ . T'would not be an easy task, Minfilia had warned him, but he welcomed that;  _ relished _ it, for it meant there was a true opportunity to atone for his shortcomings. To prove himself anew, and to prevent more deaths.

If only he wasn't failing at this, too.

Two days of selecting promising tomes from Urianger's library only for them to be about the wildlife of the Yafaemi Saltmoor, or tea-drinking habits of the Ampadori. Two days of squinting at tiny print only to decide that the hooded man in this instance had simply been a mage of the Black - oweing to the later description of him hailing from Mhach and, also, being four fulms tall - and not anything more sinister. Two days of thinking he had something, only to cross-reference it and find that the passage had been about a notorious creature of the Void. Not, then, from what they knew of them, Ascian.

Part of him thought that perhaps if he simply had a moment to sleep, as he had not in the entire two days, that he might be of a sounder mind with which to find things. But if he was sleeping, how could he possibly be finished in time? People were  _ dying _ while he dawdled - and he could only be held responsible for their deaths. More blood on his hands… he rubbed his sore eyes with his papercut fingers, resisted for the thousandth time the urge to cry or sleep, and settled in for another half-hour of decrypting a passage only, he suspected, to inevitably find it was misprinted. Louisoix would be proud, he thought bitterly. Watching one of his Circle of Knowing be reduced almost to tears over simple  _ studying _ .

He didn't realise the door had opened until Urianger was stood beside him. He must have jumped a full ten ilms in the air, because even under the hood, Urianger's raised eyebrow could not be missed.

Arse he was.

"Thou art still working, Thancred?"   
"Yes, Urianger. What does it look like I'm doing?"   
Urianger stared, his expression impossible for Thancred to read underneath those ridiculous goggles. "T'was but a question," he said, his tone as pretentious as ever.   
"If you need the library back, let me know. Until then, I would appreciate being left  _ undisturbed _ . Lives hang in the balance, and I would finish my work before too many more are lost."   
"...very well. Mine apologies."

Thancred shook his head in exasperation and turned his attention back to his work. Next, they'd be interrupting him to tell him which walk the Sultana had gone on today, or that the sky was still blue. Did they want him to complete his work, or not? Alphinaud would be coming by in the morning to check how things were doing, and Thancred was loathe to disappoint a Leveilleur, even one who was sixteen. What had Thancred accomplished at sixteen? Sod all, that was what, no matter what lies he told the others about his age. And here was Alphinaud, little worse off than scholars a decade his senior, never mind Thancred… and, if Alphinaud's past visits over the previous two days were anything to judge by, equally willing to distract him with inane--

...ah, but that was unfair .They only wished for companionship, as he himself had so often done…

...but he could not afford to be so whimsical any more, could he? He had to be… had to be…

His forehead touched parchment again, just barely.

No. No rest until his work was done.

He closed the book he'd been working on and picked up another.  _ Fell Creatures from be Yond the Veil _ \- it was an older edition, and he'd already checked the newer ones, but perhaps this one would have something in it. Perhaps.

He scanned paragraph after paragraph, the words swimming before his eyes. His mind raced, trying to keep up with what he was seeing. Nymian villains, something he was certain was actually an Allagan chimera, yet more voidsent… ah! But what was this? A hooded… hooded… hooded woman, with…

...no. That was almost certainly a succubus - another voidsent. Unless… no.  _ Definitely _ a voidsent.

He rest his head in his hands and despaired. Like the Nymian tales of Sisyphus, he felt as though he was putting all of his being into this, and only being pushed back to the bottom of the slope whenever it seemed as though his work might be yielding results. Under any other circumstances, and were his work of any other nature, his struggle might be grounds for an equally famous ballad - but whomever would sing of a man  _ reading _ for two days and two nights must be a fool.

...no. He was getting distracted again; he'd  _ told _ himself, no more nonsense! No more whimsy, and  _ no _ more Nymian tales. At least, none that didn't include hooded figures in black. He had to keep working.

He reached for another book. He  _ had _ to keep working.

\--

Urianger observed from the doorway. May as be he held no true fondness in his heart for the Scions' resident bard; never had he accepted his presence, even when Master Louisoix had ordered it, and always had the two clashed of character.

And yet, the elezen scholar drew no joy from watching Thancred's bleached head dip to touch the page once or twice a minute; nor from watching the way he slapped himself when sleep almost seized him; nor the manner in which he muttered, such curses Urianger would scarcely expect to be directed by the bard at his own self, let alone Thancred's.

Perchance he would speak to Minfilia of their colleagues' exhaustion. Be as it may that they all knew exhaustion in these past six years; and yet the fervor for his task which had seized Thancred seemed apart.

Urianger supposed the difference would lie in whether it yielded  _ results _ .


	3. Chalice

That had to be--!

No, it-- Thancred didn't allow himself to seize on the victory. It couldn't be so convenient. That he would be investigating an unusual disturbance in the aether out in Southern Thanalan and, instead of a Primal or somesuch illegal magic, find, deep in the canyons of the Red Labyrinth… this.

A Hyuran man, by the looks of his proportions, standing clothed in thick black robes despite the heat of the Sagolii beating down on them both. Metal filigree embraced his arms. Patterning which, even in bright sunlight, was difficult to discern the details of claimed his front and, Thancred suspected, his back as well. The hood, and the mask - solid black, no features - concealed his identity entirely.

Odd, though. He had a shadow. Every account Thancred had read of a Paragon thus far had placed them without shadows - although they also had  _ red _ masks, in the accounts, not black. This man reminded him much more of the dark sorcerer he'd fought alongside the Warrior of Light at the Unholy Heir - a man of the Alacran, then, perhaps?

They'd been staring at each other for several long minutes, now.

One of them would have to make a move.

Thancred was almost surprised when it was the masked man. The stranger raised his hand, drawing it down over his face - all at once, darkness crashed in around them. Just as it had been at the Unholy Heir, fell red sigils danced in the air before the mask--  _ had that been one too, then?! But so easily defeated! _ \- before the masked stranger began weaving his magicks proper.

Thancred had every intention of stopping him from ever completing the spell. Blades in hand at once, he launched himself into a sprint; if he could close the distance, this would be over before it started.

Unfortunately, an unknown force tossed him aside, breaking his momentum and slamming him into the ground. A quick glance told him it was the stranger's magic. Unfamiliar to Thancred, but that was to be expected… he hopped to his feet, undeterred by the aching down his side, and took a less direct route to his target. Quick feet darted up the canyon wall and he bore down on the man from above, colliding with his shoulders and bringing him to the ground.

The scuffle that ensued was far less elegant than Thancred would really have wished. He made several deep slashes at his chest, wounds that would have subdued any ordinary man or at least solicited a cry of pain - and despite it, the slices in his robes barely opened at all, as if the material was held in its usual place by some unseen force.  _ Was he wearing armour underneath, too?  _ And in the split second of confusion Thancred was caught up in, the robed man  _ grabbed him _ \- throwing him bodily to the side. They grappled there, Thancred fighting to stay close and the robed man trying to push him away. No doubt so he could weave more dark magic.

Thancred chased. A quick kick to the back of the knee had the man stumbling -  _ so he does feel pain _ \- and Thancred tried once more to subdue him, this time hooking his elbow around the man's neck and squeezing. To Thancred's annoyance, he started moving his hands in the casting of a spell - and before Thancred could stop him, he was suddenly thrown back with concussive force. His head spinning, he righted himself and tried to tackle the man once more - but silken ( _ or was it linen? Cotton?  _ He couldn't tell) robes slipped through his fingers, and that was it. One split moment of dark magic later, and the stranger in the robe was gone - some manner of twisted teleportation, no doubt.

Thancred lay on the ground; covered in red dust; panting. That had been… that had been his best shot. In-- in  _ weeks _ . Moons. Had it been moons? No, weeks. He was so  _ close _ ! If he'd managed to capture them, interrogate them, just  _ talk to them _ , even - perhaps they could have gotten somewhere with this  _ wretched _ investigation, but instead-- instead  _ this _ ! Failure!  _ Again _ !

No-- no. He couldn't let himself get caught up in it. He just had to… report to Minfilia, and then… and then...

His eyes still scanning the canyon in front of him for some sign of if his opponent was merely using a glamour to conceal himself, Thancred spotted…  _ something _ .

A little black stone, attached to some sort of chain. Was this something the dark sorcerer had  _ dropped _ ?

Something… he might be able to use to begin this investigation  _ properly _ ? Or at least, if not into the Paragons themselves, then into a group of unknown magi who had now plagued Thancred in his goals not once, but  _ twice _ …

He approached with caution. The thing seemed to have power in it - umbrally charged, perhaps? He could sense aether coming from it, but barely. He took the aetherometry goggles from his arm and slipped them over his eyes. It was certainly  _ something _ , that was for sure - but there were no unusual sights around it, at least that were not accounted for by the unusual magic of the man who had dropped it.

Fancy him to make such a crucial mistake while  _ fleeing _ , Thancred thought - allowing himself a small, tentative smile.

He approached, lifting it from the sand so he could return it to the Waking Sands for further investigation. At least he had  _ something  _ to show for all his time spent on this. The crystal's cool edges pressed into his fingertips as he folded the little charm into one of the pouches on his belt, then begun the process of teleporting himself to Horizon.


	4. Antecedent

The walk back to Vesper Bay had given Thancred more time to consider his encounter with the strange man in black,and the more he thought on it, the more certain he was that he had indeed confronted a Paragon.  All despite the doubts that continually abounded throughout his mind - it could have been a mage of the Black; it could have been a bandit of the Alacran; it could have been a subterfuge agent from the Sharlayan motherland from a party still unhappy about the Scions' use of Sharlayan knowledge in aid of Eorzea's more militant parties... but no. He was  _ certain _ . He didn't know how, but it was as clear to him in his mind as it could possibly be. That strange, dark magic… the unrecognisable red sigils…   
  
The stairs into to the Waking Sands were a welcome sort of familiar. He greeted Tataru idly, then dawdled in the corridor, waiting until Minfilia had concluded her current business. His hand dug into his pocket, feeling the edges of the crystal he'd found. Urianger would likely be able to identify its like, wouldn't he? Perhaps he'd be able to shed further light on this mystery… if Thancred could ever get him to stop  _ sniping _ . The two had never gotten along, and Thancred supposed they weren't about to start doing so now. Still, perhaps academic interest would spur Urianger to politeness...   
  
He was just about to set off down the hallway to try Urianger's door anyway when Minfilia's opened; it seemed her previous meeting was over sooner than Thancred had expected. He was welcomed inside. Yet as soon as the door closed, Minfilia rushed over to him.   
  
"Thancred! You are injured!" She reached up and touched at his forehead; but he waved her hand away. It was really just scrapes and bruises. "What happened?"   
"I confronted a man in black to the south of Little Ala Mhigo. I have reason to believe he may have been one of the Paragons we seek," he said, reaching to rest his hand on her arm in a gesture of reassurance. "Furthermore, I believe that the Warrior of Light and myself may have confronted a similar individual at the Unholy Heir some weeks past."   
Her eyes grew wide, her hand resting on his. "Truly? This enemy hounds us at every turn..."   
  
Thancred nodded, but Minfilia wasn't done talking. "And yet, there are more pressing matters at hand. We must get you to a chirurgeon! You are bleeding, my friend, and what use is this knowledge if it is won with your wellbeing? Please, permit me to call one so that they might examine you."   
  
Thancred shook his head, but it was as much to clear it as to disagree. He believed this knowledge - so vital that it seemed to be in pursuit of eliminating the Primals once and for all -  _ was _ worth his wellbeing. Yet he couldn't find the words with which to persuade Minfilia that he should return to his work immediately; certainly not when she was looking at him with such pleading eyes. He had more to say, he was sure of it… but he seemed the lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him.   
  
"Please, Thancred..."   
With a heavy sigh, he eventually consented. "Very well. You may call them."   
  
It was a simple enough visit to the chirurgeon. Bar the head wound, and the sleep deprivation, most things could be left to heal by themselves over time. That, or they were encouraged to do so with a little conjury - despite himself, and the determination in his mind that he must keep on top of this investigation beyond this admittedly fateful-seeming encounter, he found himself soothed by the magic. Sleep began to creep up on him, and Minfilia must have noticed, because all of a sudden she was ushering Thancred straight from the medicine room to his own bedroom.   
  
"Is there anything else you would tell me that cannot wait til the morn?" she asked, while practically pushing him past the threshold of his room so as to ensure that he actually went  _ into _ it. She'd be tucking him under the covers like he was a toddler, next.   
"Not at this moment," he said. "Now, do you want me to rest, or no? Return to your duties, my dear Minfilia. The Scions need you."   
She laughed softly then, as he retreated further into the room, began to close the door. "Very well. I will see you on the morrow, Thancred."   
  
Thancred shed his clothing without thought, then collapsed onto the bed. Finally, he could allow himself a moment of--   
  
_ The crystal _ ! He hadn't told her about the crystal. His wretched mind, falling to pieces on the slightest of exhaustions...   
  
Well. He would just have to tell her the following morn, then. They'd get to the bottom of this… they all would.   
  
Sleep took him quickly; for the first time in moons, his mind knew peace.


	5. Of Darkness

Mid-afternoon light poured through the shallow basement windows into Thancred's room. He allowed himself the liberty of lying on his back and staring at the ceiling for around five minutes before forcing his exhausted, sore body to its feet.

He trudged over to the shower in the corner of the room, slotting a tiny fire shard into the mechanism and switching it on. Water coursed over his hair, his face, his body; he washed himself in a daze, going through his regime of scented soaps and skin-softening creams with apathy. His side ached. His head ached. His eyes ached. Part of him wanted to crawl back into bed, but he'd promised Minfilia he'd keep working, hadn't he? Promised  _ himself _ . Now wasn't the time to be fooling around.

He shut off the water, towelled himself off, and opened his wardrobe. He slipped a clean tunic over his head, then moved to the dresser and opened the drawer - concealer and then foundation to hide the dark circles; just a touch of shadow, to bring out the colour of his eyes; carefully applied blush to accentuate his cheekbones; lip stain to put a little colour back in. He brushed his hair, then put the rest of his clothes on while it dried - underwear, trousers, chestguard, gloves, sandals, and the pair of Sharlayan aetherometry goggles that he slipped onto his left arm. His collar was the last item - he buckled it shut at the same size as always, ensuring it rest neatly over his throat, before styling his hair.

He derived little actual  _ joy _ from his morning routine, but there was something soothing about the monotony of it. No matter what else was happening, this was the same - and it helped ensure that no one else would notice if he happened to be tired lately. He had no time for being coddled.

He set off towards the library. He may as well begin by writing about his experiences the previous day - there were numerous empty notebooks and group journals specifically intended for such recordings, and most of the entries into the one titled "Paragons" had been his lately. Even if most of them were disappointingly low in content, at least it made his contribution clear.

"Ah! Thancred. Good morn to you."   
"Good morning, Papalymo." He turned in the corridor to see the lalafellin scholar with a hand raised in greeting; behind him, Yda waved with tenfold enthusiasm, as per usual. "And Yda. A pleasure, as always. I hope the morning finds you both well."   
"Good morning!" sang Yda. "Off to the library again?"   
"I'm afraid so."   
Papalymo spoke next - conversing with these two was odd; you were never quite sure which of them was going to respond to what you'd said last. "We were about to meet with the Antecedent regarding the potential summoning of the primal Ramuh. I suppose we'll let you get on with it."   
"Are there developments on that front, then?"   
"Nothing yet, but it's good to be prepared." Papalymo set his hands on his hips, smiling. "Do have a good day, Thancred."   
Thancred smiled to them both. "And the both of you, as well."

"Oh!" Yda pointed to Thancred - "Is that a new necklace? I don't think I've seen you wear that one before!"   
"What?" Thancred tilted his head.   
"That black one," she said. "Is it new? Where did you get it?"   
"Oh, this?" Thancred's hand went to his neck, fingertips touching the sharp edges of a crystal. "I've had it for a while, actually. I thought I'd try it with this outfit. Why, is it forbidden to try something new every now and again?"   
"Of course not! I just thought I'd ask," she said, and pouted - but it turned back into a grin after a moment. "Sorry for prying. See you later!"

She and Papalymo exchanged glances, then waved farewells and proceeded towards Minfilia's office. Thancred waved, in return, and then--

...wait, what?

He touched at the choker again. A crystal, thrumming with power… a metal setting, binding the crystal to a cord made of… silk, or linen, or cotton…

Consciously, he was aware that he should, at this moment, be  _ panicking _ . Possibly running and screaming, or maybe even throwing up. He found this--  _ choker _ , as it turned out-- when a suspected  _ Paragon _ dropped it. And now he was wearing it without ever having put it on, at least that he could remember - had he sleepwalked? Had a Paragon entered the building overnight and placed it onto his neck? But why would they do  _ that _ and not simply take it back?

But he  _ wasn't _ panicking. He felt calm. All those questions and more hounded at his mind, and yet surely running around like a malfunctioning mammet wouldn't help matters. He'd simply have to explain things to Minfilia after her meeting with the others. She'd know how to handle this. It didn't seem to be impacting his health at all, after all; it hadn't even exploded yet, and he'd never heard of a largely unmodified crystal being used as a listening device. Besides, if they'd been able to get the necklace onto him somehow, then surely they could have used a more  _ subtle _ method of listening in on the Scions' affairs.

He finally made his way towards the library. He'd just find the Paragons journal, make his entry, then get back to researching until he was told to do otherwise.

At no point did it occur to Archon Thancred Waters that he might take the choker  _ off _ .


	6. Veritable

Thancred wasn't feeling well.

It was his mistake, really. He shouldn't have pushed himself as hard as he did. His body was catching up now, and for days on end he'd been trying to continue studying or doing investigations on the ground only to find himself staring at the wall - or getting  _ lost _ . It wasn't befitting of an Archon, not least of all one who had only last moon resolved to do altogether much  _ less  _ of this sort of nonsense.

At least he wasn't getting caught up in pretty women… though knowing himself, it was only a matter of time.

Minfilia had called a meeting today - for the return of their prized adventurer, and for Yda and Papalymo to share the findings of their survey. Thancred couldn't help but notice the two seemed to be  _ connected _ , not coincidentally - it seemed Minfilia was willing to place the weight of future missions on this adventurer, and who could blame her? After all, even the most difficult… and isolated… of circumstances hadn't put the staunch hero off from the requested duty.

Well. If Minfilia was willing to trust in the newcomer, then so was Thancred. He only wished that the circumstances of the shift in operations hasn't been a result of, at the end of the day, Thancred's own  _ incompetence _ .

He almost walked into the door in his reverie - shaking his head briskly and glancing over his shoulder to check nobody had seen, he grit his teeth, took a deep breath, put on a pleasant smile, and opened the door to the solar.

Everyone else was there - everyone except Thancred, and the hero of the hour.

Well, at least he wasn't  _ critically _ late.

He went to take his usual place by Minfilia's desk, barely listening to the conversation around him until he realised he was being addressed.   
"Thancred," came Urianger's drawl. "For many an hour hast thou evaded my presence."   
Thancred looked to him, frowning. "What on Hydaelyn do you mean?"   
"I had wished to ask whether thou hadst any knowledge pertaining to the whereabouts of the Paragon journal," said Urianger. His tone was non-accusational, but grave. "T'is kept within the library, as thou art well aware, and yet upon mine latest desire to read it, t'was nowhere to be found."   
Thancred paused, then frowned. "...no, sorry. Last time I saw it was when I made my entry about the Red Labyrinth. I would have made more, but the prophecies haven't been of any more use than usual, I'm afraid."   
"Ah…" Urianger nodded. "Mine apologies, then. T'is like I have misplaced it while tidying."   
Thancred held his sigh inside, nodding. "Very well. Let me know if it turns up, will you?"   
"That I shall."

Mercifully, they were interrupted from any further awkward conversation by the arrival of their adventurer friend.

"Welcome back!" sang Minfilia, and Thancred could, at least, muster a smile to see her so pleased. "It seems you wasted no time putting your skills to work!"

The adventurer's lot had been thrown in with a grand company - and, as was the wont of such a hero, the grand company in question had rescued the crew of an airship from the Garlean Empire immediately afterwards. Thancred wondered if he ever should have concerned himself with whether or not the Scions' new champion would survive the encounter with Ifrit. It was beginning to seem as though every victory this adventurer participated in was assured - although, he reminded himself, one would do well not to rest on one's laurels. Especially if one was attempting to prove his  _ own _ worth in the same.

It seemed, as a related matter, that the Scions were to be rejoined by Biggs and Wedge - old friends of Cid's, if Thancred recalled correctly. A shame their master was no longer with the Scions… but at least they had  _ some _ mechanical expertise within their organisation again. If the Garleans were going to continue making a nuisance of themselves, he could only imagine it would be useful.

"On behalf of the Scions," Minfilia said, extending her hand to them, "I bid you welcome to the Waking Sands!"

Thancred smiled. He hoped they'd all find a home here.

Minfilia stepped back behind her desk, then moved on. As it happened, she had another favour to ask of their new champion. Yda and Papalymo explained further - how they wished to ascertain the motivations of the Sylphs, and how they might go about doing just that. Diplomacy in the forest. Not the most central to Thancred's skillset, but it wasn't outside of it, either - he was, after all, a talented negotiator. And while the Shroud wasn't exactly his  _ main _ stomping ground, he was certain he could at least survive there for the duration of such a mission.

Eager to prove himself, he opened his mouth to volunteer--   
"Lovely! Well, as much as I'd like to help, I'm afraid I would be of little use to anyone in Gridania. A veritable babe in the woods. Yda and Papalymo, however, should be able to see the forest for the trees. Is that not so, Minfilia?"

What?

... _ What? _

Minfilia accepted the suggestion, and the mission was given to the pair; and while Thancred's face was smiling, his heart was in turmoil. What had just happened? His lips… had betrayed him? It was true, perhaps, that he wasn't the smoothest when dealing with the Shroud's Elementals… and perhaps it had been a while since he had exercised his training in survival, but…  _ no _ . He hadn't intended to say  _ any _ of that.

And then, all at once, his vision went black.

He never even felt himself hit the floor.

He didn't know how long it was before he woke up again, but he wasn't on the floor, or even in bed like he'd expected to be. He was in the library - perhaps… he'd dozed off in his chair? There wasn't even a book open before him. He  _ had _ been tired of late; perhaps it was still catching up with--

_ No _ , he'd passed out in the  _ middle of a meeting _ ! And now he was just…  _ here _ ?! Something was wrong. Really, _very_ wrong. He should… he should tell Minfilia. At least. But then… she wouldn't assign him any more work, would she? He'd be a burden again, when he still hadn't made up for his prior mistakes…

He gave a sigh heavy with frustration and, hauling himself to his feet, went to pace the corridor. What could he  _ do _ ? He didn't wish to distract the others from their important works. Perhaps he ought to seek a chirurgeon on his own? Or maybe even a  _ thaumaturge _ . He hadn't been drinking too much lately, had he? Ah… that's probably what the others would think if he tried to explain the issue, though. He didn't exactly have the  _ cleanest _ record…

The pacing wasn't helping. Shoulders tense, he slumped himself in one of the stools that lined the walls, resting his head in his hands.

"Thancred?" came a voice from above, and he looked up.

It was the Scions' new champion. The intrepid adventurer was wearing quite different clothing than before… just how long  _ had _ Thancred been out for? Something else had changed, too - the expression of concern on that heroic face was new. Thancred's heart turned acrid at the thought: even in trying to cope with this issue by himself, he'd distracted the  _ one _ person in the Scions whom it was vital to  _ not distract _ .

"...ah," he mustered. "Pray do not concern yourself with my welfare." He patted his hair back into place where anxious fingers had ruffled it. "My current investigation has yielded some curious results, and at present I am pondering how best to proceed."

In all his years of training and practice for deception and infiltration, it had never been harder to muster a genuine-looking smile. But at least, it seemed, the hero was placated.

Only once the adventurer had moved on into the Waking Sands' inner chambers did Thancred sink back onto his stool - pulse racing, cloying heat prickling the back of his neck.


	7. Revelation

Thancred didn't know what day of the week it was. So, it seemed, his endeavour to get back on the straight and narrow was failing spectacularly. As usual.

Only this  _ wasn't _ usual. Was it? The last time he'd felt anything even  _ close _ to this was the time that he, as a young fool, had crept into Louisoix's office and partaken of his absinthe… and even  _ that _ had corresponded clearly to his own short-sighted mistake. This… this had no cause. He couldn't remember drinking anything. Or smoking. Or ingesting-- in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten at all. Yet his belly did not grumble. He would wake up of a morn feeling rested, and be plunged into darkness. He would awaken again in the field, or in the library, or in the mess hall, or in Urianger's office, and have to make some feeble excuse - he was just looking. He was just thinking. He was just taking a walk. Don't concern yourself. Never mind.

But  _ everyone _ was concerned about him. He  _ hated _ it. The way they stared at him just a little too long as he passed them in the corridor, or exchanged glances when he entered the room. Yet none of them ever approached him about it! As loathe as he was to discuss matters, at least it might have lead to him being of some use. Apparently, everyone was happy to just gawp at him instead.

He never wanted it to be like this. He'd tried his best! Hadn't he?

He never wanted… to be a burden like this. And in fact, even though their new adventurer champion was among the most regular of the faces he saw… the only one to have asked him if he was  _ all right _ … he couldn't bring himself to confide. How could he place his worries on such a hero? Perhaps the great warrior could survive without his assistance, but he could not abide the thought of hindering the adventurer's work with his own concerns. Even… even when those concerns were so… dire. Because that was where it was getting to, wasn't it? How did he ever let it get this  _ bad _ ..?

He didn't know what day it was. He rest both hands on the sink in front of him, leaning heavily. He was in his room… wasn't he? His breath came hard and deep, as if he'd been running. His face dripped cool water. He'd… washed his face. He was washing his face. Why was something so  _ simple  _ so difficult to grasp? Was he truly going mad?

His throat tight and his head pounding, he glanced up at himself in the mirror. He looked like he was dead. When was the last time he'd put his makeup on? His face was wan, his eyes sunken and his hair knotted. When did it get like this?  _ How _ did it get like this? Just-- Just today, wasn't it? Wait-- had he  _ just  _ woken up?

A voiceless sob erupted from his parched lips. Twelve help him…

**_I doubt they'd be very much help._ **

The voice came a voice from behind him. His breath stopped. Thancred glanced up in the mirror and swore he saw someone in the room with him - a spy?! An assassin?! But on turning... there was no such figure in the room.

_ Great _ . So he was  _ actually _ just going mad, now! An angry laugh erupted from his chest, and he turned back to the sink at once to-- oh, Twelve above, to  _ what _ ?! He didn't even know what bell of the day it was!

His frustrated gaze settled once more on the mirror… and… the figure behind him. Somehow, despite just a moment ago having decided it was a hallucination, he now found himself accepting its presence as an immutable fact. It had always been here, hadn't it? A black-robed figure, masked in red…

...just as the adventuring hero had described after the away party's return from the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak.

Thancred had no words.

The realisations crept up on him like insects. He was going to die here. If he hadn't already. Was this what the shambling soldiers of Sil'dih felt? The women whose bodies succubi possessed? This man… this  _ creature  _ that stood before him _... _ was going to kill him. He was going to die.

**_Don't be so dramatic._** The creature grinned at him. **_I'm providing you with an excellent opportunity. After all, very few mortals will have the opportunity to witness the Rejoining first hand._**

The sick dread barely had a chance to overtake Thancred before his vision began fading once more. This time, though, he could see clearly how the creature's form dissipated - how the more it blurred, the more sensation he lost. Not just in his sight, but his hearing, his touch: acutely, he felt how the Paragon was pulling his aether away, bottling it up and forcing it away so that  _ it _ , and not he, would control the body.

As a scholar of Sharlayan, Thancred knew the Paragon could kill him this way.

He wondered why it didn't.


	8. Performance

With little else to do, he pondered on the question of whether or not he was dead.

He supposed, by some measures, he may as well be. He realised after some time - he had no way of knowing how long, of course - that he was not  _ unconscious _ ; merely unfeeling. He had been tricked at first, he realised; because until now, the two had gone hand-in-hand. But he could form thoughts and emotions: simply, the  _ physical  _ sensations that one usually associated with being awake… or alive… were not there. The sensation of which way up he was, the tactility of clothes over skin, even the feel of  _ breathing  _ were all absent.

Was this the Aetherial Sea, then..? He had always thought it would be brighter. And… he didn't feel like he was floating, exactly, either. He felt like he was  _ trapped _ …  the absence of pain, or of the feeling of trying to take breaths, made him doubt he was  _ physically _ lodged underneath anything. But the feeling of pressure, of helplessness, of senseless and growing panic as the reality of his situation truly dawned on him - those were all there.

That panic washed over him, jittery and needling. Yet there were no sharp breaths - no thudding heart; no urge to run. And so it passed quickly.

Time went by.

He tested out his limits. It felt like forever before he gained a grasp on even so much as expanding his awareness of the space he was existing in. It wasn't dark like a room with the candles out, where you could feel out the edges and find the door - it was dark like the night sky, where you could reach your hand up and up and never feel a thing. Yet at once… he was being  _ held  _ by some invisible force. Or was he simply deprived of the ability to feel any progress he was making?

Slowly, he came to the realisation that the force he felt he was being held by had the very same feel of dread about it that he had felt when he watched the Paragon blur. Then… he was being held in place by _it_? It was keeping him?  As he adjusted, ever-slowly, to the deprivation of this place, he began to notice things. The faint sensation of… movement? Tilting? The sound of a voice… a Spoken voice. Yet it sounded so far away, as if cotton bolls had been stuffed deep into his ears…

All at once, he was thrust into the light.

It was dizzying, and he almost felt as though he was to throw up - all the intricate sensations of  _ having a body _ hitting him at once, overwhelming him - before he realised he was already talking. Smiling. Minfilia was before him; he could just about make her out amidst the bright, disorientating light that had flooded his eyes. But the words he spoke to her were not his own - his lips simply moved unbidden. And while he could hear his own voice coming from his lips, it was  _ deafening _ ; he could barely make out what he was supposed to be saying…

Minfilia laughed and responded. Her voice, always so sweet to his ears before, now sounded as a fiercely-rung bell might. He could barely see her face…

She'd notice… wouldn't she? Didn't she know him, by now? Surely she'd know he wasn't acting of his own free will? She'd see it in his eyes - that something was wrong. She'd help him.

He picked out a hand of hers, raised in farewell. His body turned of its own volition. And once again, he was plunged into darkness.

That was all.

He waited to see if the Paragon might bring him forth once again.

It could have been hours, or weeks, that Thancred spent suspended like this. As the mind was wont to do when deprived of sensation, he began to reminisce - memories of his time with Louisoix, his hopes and fears for Minfilia, for the adventurer-champion… thoughts of the other Scions, and even of his childhood friends. He found he dwelled more on some than others - t'was easy to dwell on thoughts of the Waking Sands, or of the adventurer. His colleagues' faces bubbled to his recollection eagerly, while those of his older companions seemed lost in the mud…

Why was that? He'd always had a perfectly good memory. Something else was wrong…

Presumably, considering the number of things he was able to consider, time went by. He was plunged into the light once more a handful of times. Each time, he fought to work through the disorientation and understand what he could. That was the word he'd sworn to himself, wasn't it? No more slacking off. No more giving in to despair.

Each time, he found himself in the midst of some conversation with a dear friend… he heard his own voice make jokes, call on past experiences. And every time, when they said farewell, he would be pushed back down again.

So that's how it was, was it? That's why the Paragon hadn't killed him. It needed to use his voice… his memories. To fool his friends. Was that why they came so easily to mind when he called them? So that--

_ Agony _ split through his very being. It wasn't--  _ physical _ . He'd felt it before, when-- whenever he'd suffered a great loss… and now, it crushed down on him from all sides, apropos of nothing. After a few moments, it subsided. A...  _punishment_ , then? For what he'd just been thinking?

...very well.

Thancred was many things. He was unreliable, rude, and lecherous. He was a lowborn wharf rat, playing at being a gentleman; a rogue playing at being a bard. A liar. Paranoid, vain, and untrustworthy. In a word: awful.

But that was just the thing. Until now, those unbearable traits of his had been inflicted only upon his friends - hindering their cause by his rather selfishly kept presence. But now… he was in the presence of the  _ enemy _ , wasn't he?

He made his silent promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note in honour of the fact that for an entire day, this work was published under its working title: "Thancred Wants To Get Off Mr Lahabrea's Wild Ride".


End file.
